The one uncle

Sometimes it feels necessary to sum up one moment in life with a statement or feeling, or overwhelming conscious thought. This past week is one of those moments in my life. A dear uncle of mine passed away rather expected but shockingly so it happened, alone and without the knowledge of anyone in the family for a matter of days. The week for me began with a rather inconspicuous heartburn problem that seemed to have no digestive cause. The “heartburn” lasted until exactly the hour that I learned of my Uncle’s passing. Why was my spirit so vexed within me?

I was on a ten day streak of shortened sleeping hours for no apparent reason also. Some nights no more that two or three hours of actual sleep found me wondering just what really is going on here. We had a lot of phone conversations among family for the first week of the news until the decision was made that some of us do feel the need to honor his life and the contribution that he gave to each of us in our life’s journey.

Just because someone does not ever acknowledge the Maker of heaven and earth publicly, does it mean that we should no less be thankful to the maker for their influence in our lives? Or rather can we be thankful for the the difficult people in our lives just as we are grateful for the everyday people that help the world go around? Yes, scripture tells us that we are to be thankful in every thing. In all circumstance’s giving thanks always for all that God does in our lives and through the people around us that we might give God the glory. Even if they do not.

Before I share some of my favorite memories, I first want to share some of my dad’s favorite memories that he shared with me those last weeks before his passing.

Once when he and his brother were just pre-teens, they and a couple of neighbor boys were put in charge of driving some cattle across a number of miles to new pasture land. They seem so young to be on such a big mission, but for both of them it was a real highlight of their growing to manhood. At one point, my dad fell asleep while telling the story again, and then began muttering that he was trying to find his brother. They would often be out all day on horseback bringing cows home, or moving them to different pastures. They truly were the American cowboys that one sees in the picture books.

Another story is about boxing gloves that one of their friends or cousins was given as a gift. There was many a rowe with their friends as the boys dug into each other to beat one or the other in a boxing match. At one point, one of the older boys goaded my dad into fighting him even though there was quite an age, height, and weight difference. My dad was fiesty enough to land the boy a hit to the gut that took his air away and he caved in letting my dad take the win. Hearing him tell the story was quite hilarous as the exaggerations improved upon each telling.

My earliest memories of my Uncle were as a little toddler standing up on the seat of the pickup cushion with my arms reaching out to touch either shoulder. At one point I could hold it in no longer and my dad says I rubbed my Uncle’s head and said, “You don’t have any hair up here.” He replied as always on his baldness, “Hair is like grass, It does not grow on a busy street.”

My uncle had a self confidence that outshined his stuttering speech. His ego and male magnetism was not always a positive trait. And it often rubbed people the wrong way. Late in his life many of the relatives believed that he may have had autism or some other smart brain social disfunction. But for those of us that did visit with him occasionally his intelligence made for easy conversation.

Of all my uncles, my dad’s brother is the only phone number in my phone, in which HE actually called me. That does make it seem rather special that we have this ability to honor him with a memorial service and spend some time celebrating his life.

My Uncle was an engineer, a wood working hobbyist, a distance range management land holder, a political activist, a writer (dropping lines to new paper editors frequently), and so much more. When I was a little girl all I new was that he helped build airplanes. To encourage my love of math in early high-school years, he gave me a photo of prototype Boeing 737 and signed the back of it for my birthday.. I am rather sad the picture was ruined by weather a number of years ago. But I remember it clearly.

My Uncle was also one of the few people of my relatives that seemed to really enjoy asking me about my greenhouse and how things were going with it. We could discuss herbs, plants, bugs, and soil content with ease and it was always a stimulating conversation. He also loved music, and thoroughly enjoyed hearing about my daughters and their accomplishments through the years. I remember having a discussion about the purchase of their instruments and the makers of each after they acquired the violins, cello, and viola each. He was so well rounded in his knowledge.

My Uncle’s wood lathe hobby was also an inspiration to my father in law. And sharing some of the items that my uncle made often inspired my dad in law to try his hand at certain toy making and kitchen utensils. The coffee scoops that my Uncle turned out of cherry wood or apple wood are some of my favorite. I use them every single day.

What I learned most from my Uncle was how to encourage young people and listen to what they are interested in. I enjoy asking my grand kids or other children “intelligent” questions and getting them to express their thoughts in more than just one word answers. While there were times my Uncle seemed overbearing to others, or a little fixed on a particular subject that i knew nothing aboout, the good that he taught me out weights the bad. And while I never heard him acknowledge that the Supreme Intelligence is the giver of all knowledge and wisdom, I know that God is Him who makes one smart and another not so much. Yet we can learn from every day people just the same as we can learn from those far above our station.

One cannot ever really find themself, one is only found by the Great Shepherd. We are all at our core lost sheep. Only by the grace of the Holy Spirit our ears are opened to hear the voice of the Shepherd calling out name. Isaiah 53: “All we like sheep have gone astray, each of us to our own way.”

Hearing that my Uncle was found a day or so after his summons to death was so sad to me. His spending so much of his life alone, and knowing his eyesight loss was similar to mine, it pained me to hear that he was discovered deceased by his good confidant and cousin. How hard it is to go through the personal belongings and try to find all of the important documents and such. How hard it is to make those calls to the officials and the relatives. In the face of death, life marches on and so much has to be accounted for.

What truth does God have for me in Christ during this moment as our family makes the transition to life without my uncle. Of course those who had daily interaction and weekly phone calls, and monthly business dealings, all find themselves making changes.

My life at such a distance will only be affected in the memories and the planned gatherings, and the many phone calls remembering. What matters most I think is how I feel like I did not get to share the truth about God’s gift of my Uncle, to him. I never told him that I believed God gave him an intelligent mind to stimulate those around him to do more and be more. I am also sorry that our visits never got into the spiritual side very often. It just seemed the moment was never right for me to share things along that line of conversation.

I am not without hope, though, as my Uncle was the one who orchestrated both of his parent’s memorial services, with daughters and I providing the music. Both of the services were Christianity based and the gospel message shared. He also attended my dad’s memorial service and told me how pleased he was of his nieces and nephews aftewards.

Fruit basket upset

Proverbs 27:18 “Whoever keeps the fig tree will eat its fruit, so he who waits on his master will be honored.”

Books this month: “My brother’s keeper” about Gettysburg during civil war. Fellowship of the rings again. “The Long Patrol” by Bryan Jaques, Theo of Golden, 30 Key Moments in the history of Christianity, a mystery about dethroning a blackmail agency, and a modern descriptive journal of an 1880’s young lady. The books have been keeping me company while I count to 159. But meanwhile, I took some breaks to make some baskets.

Journal sibling happenings not an option as someone might read it. So I will leave my much bothered adult siblings and in laws out of the writings. We have had hospitalizations, cancer scares, trip chronicles, parent talks, and exciting baby to be news to share. We still communicate much so that is all a plus!

Journal garden mishaps are not interesting at all. One of the petunia plants in the cream can planters just up and croaked. Not sure why, except it was very soggy! The good news is that my little row of mixed zinnias are in full bloom and the colors are so vibrant. Also the gladiolas that I managed to return to the soil are also putting out the glorious colors and tipping over, I need to get a string up to help them stay upright. The lilies in the various gardens have loved the moisture we are finally getting. And those blooms also stand out in the landscape.

Journal crochet is okay because that keeps me most occupied. While I cannot post the baby blanket until someone sees it first, I will keep chatting up the other projects that I do during breaks from the ever concentrated counting. Some rows sure take me a long time if I’m listening to well to my book on audio. I also don’t always listen very well on the phone as I finish my counting sequenceQ

The baskets have been so fun. The three five gallon pail size were stiffened with some wood glue mixed with water. It took a couple of days to dry in the sunshine or in the bathtub. The little one is an ice cream pail size. I tried a new technique for the stiffness. Crochet a chain using two strands of yarn, then crochet the basket using a single crochet continuum. I was so excited about the natural ability of the basket to stand up, that I immediately began a medium size basket.

Mental health awareness. Hope while focusing on today can sometimes be tricky. Scripture says not to worry about tomorrow because there will be enough troubles in this day alone. There are days that the distant future scares me. Especially if I start thinking about my eyesight or lack thereof. I worry about certain adjustments in lifestayle for myself and those around me.

Allergy reactions that cause phobia. Anxiety over every bite can be pretty nerve wracking. So eating out has been dropped down to a minimum for the last few weeks. We have to be so careful when ordering food even at simple things. I am about ready to visit an integrated health provider and start figuring out this gut health thing.

Pets and such are generally okay to journal about, except that my son-in-law just had to say goodbye to his eleven year old cat. It was a hard way to let a cat go. No one likes that daily routine change. We miss the constance of pets when they are no longer with us. Right now we have a visiting tom cat that is much like a siren or Casper the ghost. Not real friendly but brave enough to attempt eating on the back deck. I have not seen an all out fight happen, but it seems likely.I call him Siren as he announces his presence in such a fashion. Pretty bold actually.

The fruit basket upset in our life is mostly that the fig tree simply could not handle the spider mite pressure. I also think that a water filter is in the happenings for the greenhouse. We use rural water that is system treated and occasionally the plants roots simple give up under the treated water in the soil. So this fall I will get some rich compost and some more fertilizer for the whole house after the sides get put back together. The whole outer shell is being replaced. Which actually means that right now, the building is naked. I’m planning on doing it in green instead of white. We’ll see if the color change acts as a good luck charm!

Well, I delayed this post long enough that hubby got the last of the wood shell on the dome yesterday. We worked together some until the head cold he had the week prior took up residence in my head. I’m a bit under the weather, but grand doggy comes this week for a vacation stay while my daughter and son in law go on a trip. It’s time to wrap this up and write about something more significant.

Burgundy or Chocolate?

The last three weeks have been the start of many writings. My journal entries are so scattered. Pinning down an over riding thought or lesson in what the Lord has been teaching me is difficult to grasp. This past month marked the one year anniversary of my dad’s passing. So much and so little has changed since last year. All the days that I thought about telling him something so that his mind’s eye could see what I was describing to him, all the days have passed like a blur. And yet, I still want to tell him, or my mom in law or dad in law something funny that their great grand kids have done. I still hear their voices in some odd everyday happening sharing their bits of wisdom and truths.

Today, struggling to see the difference between burgundy and chocolate I once again wondered how my dad might solve this dilemma. Of course he never crocheted, but he did with help color code his closet of shirts. Red and one end and blue and the other. Funny that while helping my mom put away her laundry after a recent hospital and rehab center visit, she too had some system of color coding in her closet. I feel rather foolish that I have not done the same yet. Especially with my failing eyesight. It would be quite helpful. Why had not I put the burgundy ball of yarn in a separate basket?

We are getting a rainy day for the first time in a month. It is cloudy and overcast with just enough moisture to make the surfaces wet. An actual rain dropping sound would be amazing, but we’ll get what we get, right? I remember clearly my mother in law telling me about the year that the corn still put on a crop just by pulling moisture from the air all season. Wow. So grateful for every “wet” day that we get.

Our rule is leave the windows open and pray that will bring some rain!

Well, I lost half of my blog by using the update on a secondary device. Bummer. The large tote of yarn that I bought of market place had some real finds. One was a skein of Alpaca Denim Gold for worth nearly 60 dollars. I made a dragonfly shawl. It’s pretty. I spent the first two hours sorting all of the types of yarn. Also finished a kaleidoscope afghan with some number six yarn. That was a real slippery thread.

My book reads this month worth mentioning are “Theo of Golden” and “My Brother’s Keeper” a civil war diary. Both are middle school to early adult reads. The second was one my mother found at the library in her Rehab Center library. The first a media recommend. I liked them both but did not immediately repeat.

The gardens have been weeded and preen spread. I was so tired of the chore. A box of preen was well worht the effort. The rain has been wonderful as I don’t have haul watering cans those days. The front boxes look lovely this year and the begonia’s on the front dect look amazing after i found a shady spot for them to live. The fig trees are on stuggle bus fashion as the spider mites and aphids are hard to keep at bay. I need to feed the soil I think.

Meanwhile, keeping track of colors of yarn continues to be a challenge. I use my phone apps frequently to tell the difference between colors when there are no wraps on the skeins.

There might be some grand lesson to learn over the last moth, but for the most part I am just struggling to breathe. My nebulizer and I have become well acquainted even though I loath sitting still and not doing anything. Books or videos keep my brain occupied while I puff away on the necessary medicine.

My favorite Bible verse this month is Psalm 121:5, “The Lord is your keeper, the Lord is your shade at your right hand.” It has been excessively warm this past couple of weeks. We had heat index over 113 degrees, feels like an oven out there.

Oreos or Cheerios?

Some days I scare myself. Like walking out to the grill the other day and nearly thinking the stairs were closer than they aught to be, and falling. Well, I did not fall, and the stairs were another two steps, but the electrical “fear” shock still went through me. Then there was the day trying to walk in the dark hallway with my granddaughter on my hip. Her cringe every few moments told me I was getting her too close to the doorway or wall for her comfort. So I decided she had feet, and would just have to walk herself when it was not safe for me to carry her.

I mean really, I don’t need to give her the anxiety of electrical shock scares all of the time also. Someone tried to convince me that the feeling I have, anxiety is based on my gut and some imbalance. Well, I know when they happen. Yes, it’s a gut level response. Fear! And the imbalance is the momentary feeling that I’m going to fall.

That has happened. Like a couple of years ago when a little rocker / sliding toddler chair was in the middle of the hall. I crashed over it big time. And the time the little jumper chair was in front of me and I crashed over that unto my knees. When vision fails me, gravity does not.

And now there is the word blenders. Like the day I asked my daughter for some cheerios for dog retrieval treats. I thought I said Cheerios, the oatmeal cereal. Instead my blender mind spit out oreos. They have cocoa powder which is a toxen to little dogs. Really? I think someone stuck a spun in the blender. Or left a spatula in my mind, when I needed a scubbie!

Oh that happened one time… I mean the spoon in the blender. It was a glass blender nearly fifteen years ago maybe. What a mess. The ingredients went all over the kitchen. And the glass broke too. Did I say that was a mess?

Maybe I’m over thinking these. But honestly when the baby’s name takes a pet name replacement, it’s scary. I did not think I was getting old yet.

So next time I say we need some more cereal, don’t forget the breakfast sausages!

And in other news, the nightmare about having a “guide” horse happened again. NOOOOO! While I know that horses live longer, a dog has a lot less allergy implications. I am so allergic to horses that I had to take Benadryl every time I took care of Cocoa, and that means he did not get the care he deserved.

Also doing research about hidden ingredients. Dextrose. Is the plant glucose that is a starchy sugar past. It can come from a number of plant starches, and most often is NOT single ingredient. So maybe potato, corn, rice, or other starch plants. Bother.

Book Review: Two books this week worth mentioning. “All the broken places “ by John Boyne and “The pearl” by John Steinbeck. The first is a World War II recovery novel. I don’t particularly care for gruesome details and skipped over most of the gory stuff. The novel is essential about guilt. How we try to reconcile it ourselves. The second is a battle of good versus evil. It is a much shorter story and I recommend it for the middle school ages. A 1947 writing, it is a parable expansion and a good read. The comprehension of treasure and real value is an undertone throughout the book.

The next week our family passes some milestones. My first daughter and son in law celebrate ten years married, while we will celebrate 35. There really aren’t enough words to describe the difference that twenty years makes on marriage. The unconditional, seet, knowing love is far better than aged wine or cheese. It can’t really be explained in one blog or book.

This week a friend donated me a large sack of yarn! Eureka! What fun. Projects are endless options now. We also got part of the garden planted. The two large garden boxes and the tomato tubs. It’s time to do something with myself again. Maybe I’ll just play with dog. We bought him a new ball this week, so he had to take it to bed with him. It’s so funny!

May is nearly over and the entires have been sparse this month. Another milestone was added in the family yesterday… my second daughter announced a precious baby package will arrive around Christmas time. Oh, I am so excited. It’s pretty hard to contain myself. Putting a lid on such news until the foretell permission is granted is difficult.

The exciting part about the whole week was there is a large stash of baby yarn in the bag from our friend. Yay! God knew and provided. Now I can study some patterns and make decisions and pray for another little one to hold! And pray that I won’t call the baby by a pet’s name… “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in God’s ears and those around me also!”

The last time

The first time I had an allergic reaction to a food is not a memory that I can track down. May is allergy awareness month. So I thought I’d take a trip down the memory lane of food allergies in my life. If you are not someone with food allergies be thankful. But since I do have them, I am thankful there is a little pink pill that can help. Today we understand more about the allergic response at the cellular level. Whether it’s old fashioned hay fever or a deadly peanut allergy, we have medicines to counteract the bodies negative reaction. Thankful to be alive in this day and age.

What Blueberries have added to my life? Well, another allergy listing. The last time I ate certain foods really sticks in my mind for some reason. And yet, while dwelling on the past is one of my “brain trains” that I am trying to wipe out, the memories we have are what makes us who we are today.

The last time I had a buckwheat pancake was when my daughter was in college and we joined her at the college cafeteria. I remember trying to choke down the dry cake like I had always done all of my life. Pouring on the syrup never seemed to help.. My mouth feels dry and chalky, my throat begins to swell, and while I do not regurgitate, the memeory still comes back like it was yesterday. What were we doing that day? Why were we there? What time of the year was it? Nope, can’t think of any other things except her happy go lucky cheerfulness and her many friends greeted in passing.

The last time I ate potatoes was a church supper gathering. We attended perhaps a fall festival or something with a concert afterwards. My second daughter was with us and my husband also. We went to visit the in-laws for a bit after the event. My head hurt so bad, I was soon on the floor curled up in a little ball. I used my inhaler, but did not know any other options for this horrible debilitating headache that existed for some unknown reason.

The last time I ate frenchfries was in my daughter’s back yard on lawn chairs. We had picked up a meal from the local drive in. Burgers, fries, and sodas. At the time I thought the reaction of throat swelling and asthma was from the mayonnaise on the burger. I had no clue it was actually the french fried potato that was giving me this scary feeling.

The last time I ate a banana was many years ago, and the reaction was only minutes after the second bite. That time I actually did go to the sink and try to throw it up. Not very successful, I then called my mother-in-law to ask her in my dazed state, where she thought I might have the Benadryl at. She was right, it was in the silverware drawer, and she stayed on the line until I felt I could breath again.

The last time I encountered Habanero was the homemade refridgerator pickle jar. The were so spice and ymmy. My husband and I were cleaning out the fridge and he wondered if the pickles were okay. Without even thinking about all of the contents, I grabbed a pickle and ate it. Yep, they are good, I said. Then immediately started swelling up, getting hivew all over my lips and face. Benadryl to the rescue once again.

The last time that I had almond milk was in my coffee at my daughter’s house. I was so sick by mid-day that I called her dad to take me home. I don’t think I understood what was bothering me that day. And using my nebulizer did get me through the worst of it, but I felt pretty awful for nearly a full 24 hours.

The last time that I had papaya, was it’s “gut health chewable” in a pill form I did not even know the papaya was in the pre-biotic vitamin supplement. There were quite a few tropical fruits in the highly processed vitamin. The reaction was quite swift and I barely made it through the morning with the Benadryl and inhaler support. I looked up the contents of the bottle and found papyap to be in the latex family with bananas. Bother.

The last time that I ate sesame seed was in the those lovely garbanzo beans dips from the store. I was eating a lot of such thing through the summer with veggies et cetera. Until the day I had an instant reaction. Again, at home, by myself, took a Benadryl. Suffered the headache and effects for nearly a day. Finally looked up the ingredients and found sesame seed to be high on the “next” list for my full Immune system dysfunction allergy response. Oh, dear. At the time I was not really aware of the whole next concept in my diagnosis.

The last time that I had hazelnut coffee was inadvertently. Having been at my mother’s with my sister, we both figured out she had mixed the grounds and neither one of us could have the coffee. She was the first to spend the whole day sputtering or wheezing from the mixed grounds. Then I thought the coffee had been cleaned out and remade with safe stuff. My brother made the pot that morning, and while I was trying to remake the bedding and do the laundry, I blacked out. I was able to tell my daughter what happened and she found my purse with the Benadryl in it. Thank goodness it was only a trace of the old coffee. The pot just did not get cleaned enough. No more hazelnut grounds for me.

The last time that I encountered a trace of barley landed me in the ER. The little dog’s food has barley in it. I had been washing my hands very thoroughly. Until one day I encounted his treat, and my cookie within the same fifteen minute window. Apparently his treats had barly and I did not wash my hands good enough. This is also the ER visit that earned me a slap on the wrist from my doctor. Next time, she said, just call 911 then administer the EPI-pen while on the phone to the operator. Okay. I mean it was plenty scary.

The last time that I had “egg” noodles in canned chicken noodle soup, was also the first time that I ended up at the ER. I had a bad day altogether with the Canadian fires smoke in the air and the wind during an early May allergy season. Then we ate some soup thinking it was an easy alternative. Not so much. It was also the day before my granddaughter’s birthday party the next morning. We don’t know for sure if it was just the egg noodles, or if the wheat flour was tainted with barley by chance. Not fun. Since then egg noodles are off my grocery list.

The last time I was in the same room with peanuts was in the hospice room with my father-in-law. My brother-in-law was snacking on them and when he began talking behind me, my nearly blacking out, brain warning to move across the room saved me from having to find all over my rescue items. I have had not direct contact with peanuts for many years. And only my sister’s sudden allergy response at adult allergy onset told me to start being careful.

The last time that I reacted to nightshade weed, was in the butterfly garden. It was the first full year into trying to get the flower beds established. And the weeds had gotten out of hand during the heat of August. So I tried to clean them up. Well, I had a full body hives reaction for nearly a full week. It was the year we celebrated my dad’s 80th birthday. All gathering for the first time in many years. It took the full week of around the clock Benadryl to get over the hives. Thank goodness there were no other problems. But it was the height of fall allergy season. So there’s that.

The last time I was around microwave popcorn, I nearly passed out. So there’s this highly processed oil or something that they put in the microwave bags and it is equivalent to the aerosol poisoning that happens for some people. I am one of those people that cannot breathe when the particles enter the air. I’ve known that aerosol sprays are dangerous for me ever since the old lysol sprays, and the bathroom scent sprays. Those have not been in my home for decades. But the popcorn in the microwave caught us a little off guard that last Sunday evening. I have only had a few close calls with popcorn. We have been able to stop the bag opening before I suffer an asthma attack. It’s not fun to be so sensitive to such things. Really I don’t like calling attention to myself. One time, I just made the excuse the dog needed a potty break.

The last time I ate blueberries was in a smoothie that I fixed for myself. Asthma had been haunting me for a few days. I had a couple close calls with corn syrup in Dorothy Lynch, and something was just off. The morning was touch and go with my asthma. But the afternoon smoothie took me out. Half hour later my nose was completely plugged up from inflammation. I took one Benadryl and one Pepcid AC and was lying on the floor in recovery mode. My daughter called face time and told me that another Benadryl was needed as she could see the swelling over the video call. We had to look it up, as I really did not believe blueberries had become a “next” allergy item. Wow – really? Blueberries. Yep. It could be all the pesticides and the preservatives, or it could just be the mold. Either way, I’m done eating blueberries.

The last time I mentioned my allergy problem to someone, I was shot down by words. Words telling me that there are detox options if I would just look them up. Words telling me we have all been poisoned by vaccines and germ warfare. Words telling me perhaps I think to much of myself and my “brushes” with death. So I decided to write this journal entry. Telling about the last time I encountered these toxins in my life. I know the temporary fix for allergies. My father-in-law experienced it after his chemo treatments. I know a few others who have had remission of cancer, allergies, and other immune disorders with the medical use of chemotherapy. No thank you.

So there is always a last time for everything. Some people don’t have to keep track of every item they put into their mouth. Some people don’t care to hear about other’s difficulties. Some people just want to talk about themselves. Some people don’t care that others think before they act. Some people don’t have allergies and refuse to acknowledge that for some people it is a matter of life and death.

I’m glad to be alive. Even if it means attending church where there is a baked potato feed could put me into an asthma attack right in the middle of my playing with the praise team. Don’t worry, I managed to get my inhaler, ask my husband to guard the sanctuary door to keep the smell out of the gathering room. We left through the back door of the church and did not say anything to anyone. But it’s still scary, even if no one wants to hear about my daily struggles.

So maybe the next time someone mentions allergic response you will acknowledge that we are rare folks. Less than one in a million people actually die from an allergic reaction and most of those is an unknown medicine allergy. While food allergies are rare less than 1 percent of people have peanut or potato or barley or nightshades allergies, having a long list of allergies is also rare. I would suppose that makes me special. Just so long as I don’t become one in a million, I’m doing okay.

What did you think was going to happen? 

Going to church for children’s message is still my thing. I get so much more out of the little happenings in those five minutes. This past Sunday it was the orange that sinks or floats lesson. The seal of the Holy Spirit on our lives is like the cloak of the orange peel. When we listen to His prompting to obey the Lord and ask for help from the Father when we are treading water. So the object lesson is a pitcher of water in which first the orange peeled gets dropped in the water as we try to do everything on our own. But when we put on the life vest of Jesus Christ, we are saved. Pastor put his hand into the pitcher to retrieve the sunken orange only to have water go everywhere. One little child repreated his parents words in automatic response, “What did you think was going to happen?” As the congregation ripples with laughter and the water spill requires a towel, the lesson continued with the orange keeping it’s cloak of peeling and floating on top of the water just as it should. Two lessons or three in one! Don’t sink and drown wear you life vest. Don’t try to do things on your own, ask for help from the Lord. And Don’t fill the pitcher too full, because you will soon need a towel (helper) to wipe up of the spill. And maybe, think before you act, so that there is not a mess in the first place.

Changing weather is so hard. It’s like a roller coaster of wind, warm, and cold as we head into spring. The first day of spring here was Friday. And Saturday the alarm in the greenhouse went off at 99 degrees Fahrenheit. I rotated all of the fans and worked early in the morning repotting some of the geraniums. The Mother’s Day starts are all ready now and will just require water until the day. Maybe flower clean up every two weeks. Then on Monday morning, (today) the alarm went sounded again as the temperature in the greenhouse dropped to 39 degrees. Bother it’s hard to keep up with this pendulum swing.

I have always known the weather to be hard on the animals. A few years ago just about Easter, our little rescue Eva found the end of her days. Tabitha was her buddy cat. They had slept together, shared the dog hut, and generally layed around together for two years. When Eva was getting her last loves, Tabitha came over and rested on her legs one more time. It was so sweet to see them caring for each other. I cried much over that parting. Tabitha was mad at me for three days after that. She wouldn’t even return to the porch. Finally though she did, and spend many of her best days as our favorite porch cat ever. Way too many ways to say goodbye. Tabitha developed kidney failure in the last month. I knew she did not feel well the last few days, because she was one of those “potty trained” cats. When I took the dog out, in the morning, she had to go do her thing on the edge of the grove also. It’s always hard to say goodbye to pets.

Best front porch cat ever, Tabitha had her faults as a kitten, getting stuck in the mulch bin with another cat Boomerang. And she spend two or three wellness spa visits in the greenhouse recuperating from double respiratory infection, and then a sinus infection, and then skin tears from a mean male tomcat. She was on medicines more than any of our other cats. And she was also in the house more often on my lap than any other cat. She followed me to the greenhouse until she did not. We thought maybe she had lost some hearing from the sinus infections. She just did not choose to leave the porch very often. Tabitha found refuge in the boxes that we put out on the porch.

Maybe some cats are angels. You know there are some people that really don’t think cats are good. They do tend to cut you off at the top of the deck stairs many times as if the joy of watching humans tumble to the ground is in them. But then there are the cats that give people new leases on life, and a purpose for living. These cats could be angels in disguise. Tabitha was so good with the kids also. She just put up with so much.

Then there’s the morning greetings that constantly change throughout the years on an acreage. Missing Cocoa’s whiney or snicker took nerly two years to get over. Now it’s Tabitha’s morning perch on the porch deck box as she waited for us to come out. As soon as my feet hit the floor in the bedroom she exited her little warm box, and sat in the deck box waiting for a morning pat on the head. It is the one thing about daily duties that makes life worth living. Daily greetings form a dog, a cat, a horse, or any other such vocal being reminds me that the Lord walks with us and wants such close relationship also.

We were made to be in relationship with others. From pets to people, God reminds us that He is very creative in reminding us that He is real and true and loving and faithful. I will miss Tabitha’s daily expectations.

“When we walk with the Lord, in the light of His word, what a glory He sheds on our way….” Lyrics from the song “Trust and Obey” by Don Moen

About My IF

When I was a very, very little girl – and that is a true understatement – I had a stuffed pink puppy. In my mind the puppy was bigger than I was. My mother says I weighed only fifteen pounds at two years old. That is the same size as my little black dog now.

I have memories of riding this little pink stuffy like it was a horse. It solidified my love for dogs over that of horses at an early age. Though I thought I still liked horses, because my dad trained them, that like was turned to “dislike” until I was a teenager. The love for dogs stuck a little more, even though I cannot recall that the pink fluff ever had a name.

Imaginary Friends are for little kids who have no one to play with them. So I used my stuffy’s, dolls, and other such toys to entertain me until my baby brother came along at six years old. Then in another year or so I developed the management tools that I would need for the rest of my life while bossing him around.

I don’t remember of the little pink fluff had a name. The color was much like Cotton Candy. And though I did not know about such when I received the doggy, later years, I always gravitated to the fair cart for some of the pink fluff. Having it melt in my mouth could transport me to worlds of imagination. So perhaps the puppy’s name was Candy.

About my IF, that is Imaginary Friend from years past. Mine was a magic carpet puppy that I rode like a horse. My little legs hugged the dog and my fingers gripped his ears, and I ran and slid across the floor countless times. In my mind we flew around the room hiding under the table and landing on the sofa. It must have been my constant companion because looking at it in my adult years I noticed the faux fur was completely worn off the fabric.

Another strong memory from those wee bitty years, is of someone asking me if I wanted a piece of candy. I would nod my head vigorously only to be asked once again, if I was “sure.” My poor little brain did not know what the word “sure” meant. I remember doing a circle with my head from no to yes, not knowing what the correct answer was. I hated the question “Are you sure?” I was not sure, I was “Yvonne.” Did my Imaginary Friend have a name? Could it really be imaginary if the puppy was a stuffy that I rode around like a magic carpet?

This past summer when we cleaned out the old house, I found it in the “keepsakes” box. I took a picture of the pink rock and then threw it away. The stuffing in the doggie had turned into a solid mass of something. Not sure why, but the foam innards had hardened into a solid beast. The little puppy did not look near as comely as he had while I rode him across the hard floor of the kitchen as a toddler.

Through the years that followed my toddling days, I turned from this carpet puppy to horses during my play time. But it was not long until I felt the thump of the heart and warmth of live fur baby more comforting. I had a cat in middle school and high school named Mittens. Mittens was grey with white socks on the fore paws. He was such a quiet cat indoors that I snuck him up to my bedroom a lot. The comforting feline pur was so addictive. It was so sad when he had an accident and had to be put down. I cried a lot. Thank goodness he had to go shortly after one of my paper route friends lost her husband. The value of “soul” was not lost on me. I knew someday, maybe, I could have another cat. She would never get another husband.

Today, nearly two score of years later, I still prefer a puppy over a horse. Even though a week ago, my grandson asked if “we could get another horse.” What is this “we” thing, I thought. I already took care of Cocoa for years while taking Benadryl just to be around him. And I know that a cat would make my hubby do the same thing. He is so allergic to the “dusties” that a cat produces with it’s constant shed. That is one of the reasons we now have a Shih Tzu in the house instead of a constant shed dog.

We watched the movie IF (2024) in the fall of 2025. Yeah, we’re cheap and usually wait until the movie is released from theatre and can be seen at home. Once in a great while, we do make it to the show house, but this one escaped our knowing. I really enjoyed the whole concept of the film and thought about my pink Cotton Candy puppy right away. Who wouldn’t remember riding through the house on a pink fluff?

I don’t need an Imaginary Friend when I have a real fur ball. But I do still love the addicting sound of a good motor. I do have six cats outdoors yet. Tabitha and Kramer are probably my favorite right now. Though Kramer won’t sit still very well. Zuchi has followed me around the most, like to the greenhouse and stuff. But Kona does tricks! And though I can’t ride him around like a magic carpet, his greetings and energy are fun and contagious. He does make me laugh with his funny jump-fly over the steps into the living room after a fetch session.

While I began this writing back in October, today seemed a good day to complete it. I was suppose to visit my little people (grandchildren) but my daughter now has the tummy bug the two youngest shared with her. This winter has been full of immune building experience for them. My last visit to their house was punctuated by a little girl finding the scissors to see what was inside her favorite stuffy. Mommy was pretty upset for having to do surgical repairs once again. Some children are so attracted to the hand held cutters. My mind immediately returned to all of the toys that we repaired for our fur ball Furbie. He wanted to get to the heart “squeaky” and we let him. Then we saved the rabbits, squirrels, skunks, and socks for further demolition. It’s hard to imagine what this little girl might do someday and what this “knowledge” will help her learn.

Meanwhile, my mom took a tumble and aafter a brief hospital stay is now in rehab, riding a bike and learning to use her new “walker” friend. No imagination needed here. Just some hope to get better soon. And not the kind my husband mentioned. One of his coworkers needed a “get better soon” card not because he was ill, but because failure had marked every attempt to teach the kid something new. Some people have no imagination.

Winter games project

Watching television and doing nothing with my hands is foreign to me. Most of my silent time is spent using my hands. I just have a fidget need. Who sits still and does nothing?

Winter Olympics are fun to watch. whether we find motivation to get more fit, enjoy more outdoor activities, or simply do something we love to do. For me it is the later. So I found a project to crochet while “watching” the olympics. Haha.

The best stories are the trials to overcome. Hearing about the single mom that has two deaf little boys and still won a gold medal in some event reminds me that everyone has a story to tell. Overcoming adversity is what makes us unique yet relatable.

After I found a video a couple weeks ago about the ”whole” person discovering our individual purpose, reflecting on our one little wave in the whole ocean of humanity seemed daunting. So I grabbed my yarn and put together a color scheme to crochet something.

Crochet color schemes based on paint color room decorating is my new thought process. I picked two colors looked up a color palette and matched the yarn to them. Wow! I’m so happy with the outcome. It gives me a new lease on crochet projects. Of course, still not sure what to do with this collection of items made.

Two weeks time is all that it took to finish the latest shawl. Some would probably say, “it’s not big enough to wrap up in” so why bother? Sometimes it’s more about the look of the finished item. Of course the feeling of mosaic crochet items is warmth and comfort, also! But I really did not expect to be done in just two weeks.

What’s next? That’s always the problem. Just like the Olympian who completes their goal, what is the next goal. Ecclesiastes tells us the joy of doing is a good goal in itself. Enjoying the fruits of our labor, like this moment of just sitting under the really pretty wrap while catching up on the happennings for my online journal.

The past two weeks were a bit of a blur really. My daughter’s kidney stone reared it’s ugly head and we had the kids for a full week. Thank goodness their daddy could take care of the baby for most of the week of her recovery period. Nonetheless, the month still seems to be a blur of activity. The first two weeks were so nice outside, and then the last two weeks bitter cold. Winter games on the television did add an element of distraction to the difficulties of the month.

Empty baskets are meant to be filled. My sister dealing with blindness and trying to fill the time gives me more to be thankful for my own ability to do something with my hands. Even when my eyesight was not cooperating with me for church piano playing this past Sunday, I was thankful that my ability has risen to the challenge. God enables in a way that seems unbelievable.

The barren winter landscape in our area does not have to be the focus of dull drum winter. Other parts of the country are under blankets of snow, and I sit under a crochet wrap that is both distractingly pretty and not so heavy it requires hours of shoveling to get out from under the piles of snow… I am glad for my crochet time “killer.” I am glad that I can listen to books while I do so.

The book that distracted me from the brown dead grassy yard this past week was an “Ellie Haskins Mystery.” I was thinking about “Wuthering Heights” and my hubby got me “Withering Heights.” The first is an old classic literature work and the later is a recent mystery novel. Oh, well. I did not mind it so much. wondering what happens next is a little better that than trying to figure out what color palette will fill my basket next!

The Crazy Crochet Cat Lady pattern above is from the Wild Things collection. I really wanted to do a better version than I completed last year with it’s scraps and pieces. I used a smaller hook this time and the completed item is about six inches smaller in both length and width. I imagine that there will be a border on it soon.

Being physically challenged by my eyesight can sometimes be limiting. Like crocheting colors that are hard to tell the difference between, so I’m learning to mix up the bolds a bit more. I am so glad to have the challenges to overcome. And glad that crocheting in a row is something okay for my vision, accomplishing something pretty in the the end result. So on to the next project….

Provocations

Don’t take the bait! This is the best advice that I have ever had or given when it comes to provocations. Whether intensional or exceptional malevolent another’s actions or speech can often drive an emotional response that even surprises the respondent. And yes, unfortunately I have been on either end of the action or spoken misstep. Yet, afterwards it’s my own emotional anxiety that is the temperature gauge that tells me, I took the bait. How did I fail so miserably with this recent provocation.

Letting go of intended or unintended sins against my personhood is part of the constant “forgiveness” lifestyle. Because whether people know it or not, feelings are fickle things, and words often hurt more than they are ever meant too. Forgiving current happenings are often easier than putting back the old dry bones in long lost family closets. Yes, Great Grandma Millie, everyone has skeletons in the closets. It’s those old wounds that fester and turn into anger cesspools when the cisterns are not properly dealt with and dug up when there are least expected. Just when you thought the gravel pit had filled it all in, suddenly there is a leak in the storage tank that was still there. Bother, here we go again finding another painful memory to rehash.

While dealing with the wills and trusts and those left behind things of deceased parents, much has come to mind of the fair treatment or unfair treatment that each child receives. Of course each child probably always thinks that another has the “favorite” treatment.

From the book “Anne of Green Gables”. A quote from Marilla Cuthbert while discussing the bringing up of a girl to her brother Matthew, “I’ve never brought up a child, let alone a girl, and I reckon I’ll make a fine mess of it, but nevertheless I will try my best.” Indeed every parent has made a real fine mess of parenting I dare say.

So I suppose it best to take the advice of the old minister, unless you are a parent yourself, don’t give parenting advice. And of course, I have one daughter in the woes and bliss of parenting and the other in the woes and bliss of people management. Two entirely different occupations but nonetheless difficulties of relationships that arise regularly upon which advice is sought.

Being the peacemaker in the family is not my strong suit, but yet being in the ministerial position of come to terms with the moment’s of life is part of what I feel God has tasked me with. Or rather, maybe, finding peace with the life that God has dealt to each of us. I often see people in their moment of difficulty grasping for the answere that is only answered by our Lord.

I remember distinctly when my father, with a tear rolling down his face, admitted he was having trouble being patient. The only answer that I could give him was Jesus. God is the supply of our every desperate cry. And so, too, now when my family has arrived at a conclusion that is unexpected, some of us must look to His aid in our time of need. Keeping the peace and not letting this moment become a wedge that drives us apart is the battle cry that I have taken up.

Disillusions realized can be quite disheartening. Every adult-child finds themselves at one point or another in the understanding that a parent they thought was invincible or perfect, has toppled from their pedestal. I remember when I first realized that adults could be untrustworthy. At the age of sixteen or so, I was sexually assaulted by an elderly church member. Perhaps this is telling too much. My father stood up for me a resolutely refused to attend the church ever again, if there were no disciplinary steps taken. The church did not remove the elder’s status. My father never went to that church again. He took the opinion that church was full of hypocritical child molesters from that point forward. And to my dismay, my mother continued to attend the church freely forgiving the person who so dismantled my innocence. I never told the rest of my siblings that this was part of the larger puzzle that helped my parent’s marriage fall apart.

I saw this happen. I did not blame myself. For our family had done many a winter puzzles. I knew it was just one piece. But I found that I had not fully comprehended the battle that was going on between the two until decades later. My dad felt that just as this man must of abused me, perhaps my mother’s “spiritual” loyalty was in fact adultery or some other sin. He could not understand her choice to attend the church of an elder whom had so abused his daughter. Of course we won’t discuss his own abuse to he children and wife, that was family and his “right” to treat them as he did.

A small note about family genetics here… My father received the retinal disease RP from his mother, and he in turn passed it on to three of six children. Some find the possibility of blindness absolutely frightening, while those of us with the reality see it as just another part of living. Being legally blind provides a chance to understand that is okay to ask for help, because it gives another to discover the gift of giving. While one may find it difficult to ask for help, a blind person must. This character change moves one from blindness to discernment and those who are honest and helpful rather than seeking a reward for their labor are discovered. Discernment in personal character is not just gifted to some individuals. This “seeing” of another’s motive is learned by trial and error. My dad learned to “see” through people in a way that many people never can. Blindness is not always blind!

So there. The truth or some of the truth has been spilled. Provocations whether purposeful or not happen. Emotions and natural responses happen in the heat of the moment. Decisions are made that ripple throughout the decades. Just like Sarai’s choice to give her servant girl to Abraham, generations pay for the sins of the fathers and mothers no matter if restitution is paid. Choices have consequences.

While this is the most abstract painting that I have ever written, I hope that it has not provoked someone to anger or revenge. I have no desire to take on more than what I am responsible for. We alone can control our own actions. It is not up to us to judge or decide what another’s appropriate or inappropriate actions ought to be. Always and ever the only person we can control is ourselves. And so now in the light of past actions that have been revealed, once again it is only my reaction and my response to this moment in time that I can control and prevent a ripple effect that does not create a tsunami of emotions from others.

I pray for our family that we never led the past of the present divide us. God wants families to stay together, to work together, to love on another and be His voice to the world. Satan wants to steal, kill and destroy and I will not let him get a foothold in our family during this unsettling time. We will not make decisions in the heat of this difficulty that change the outcome of our togetherness over the future decades. Choices have consequences. And I will not regret my actions. I choose to love, to forgive, and to keep peace in the family.